


Running

by pollitt



Category: Gattaca
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2003
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-25
Updated: 2003-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:12:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eugene. Running. Failure and success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Basingstoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/gifts).



Eugene remembers the first time he truly ran, when the muscles in his thighs ached and the cold bite of the wind filled his lungs as the scenery passed by. It wasn't while at training, nor as he competed against other men whose genes coded them to greatness. It was, in fact, the night before the race whose victory would start the chain leading to his silver medal and shattered spine. He stole from his room; silently passing occupied rooms, taking off as soon as he heard the soft click of the door. To where he was running, Eugene couldn't say, he just ran until his muscles screamed and he collapsed on the wet grass and stared at the mist of his breath clouding the air above him. Alone, there was no one but himself to judge his success or failure. The stars in the sky were too far away and too long extinguished, now, to critique his performance as Jerome Eugene Morrow. 

For three hours he found reprieve from his name and the ladder that allowed him to rise above his peers. 

From such heights, the resulting fall was as great as the climb. 

As the world turned to blackness, the terrified voices of the driver and passersby echoing in his ear, Eugene remembers feeling cold grass beneath his body.  
 

* * *

  


When Vincent Freeman first stepped into Eugene's apartment he wore the glasses and slouch of someone Eugene had been overlooking his entire life. 

Invalid. Faith birth. Janitor. 

The boy that was all of these things wanted to buy the name and DNA of Jerome Eugene Morrow to fulfill his dreams. It was a story that would've made bleeding hearts cry, had that trait not bred out of the genetic chain of society years before. Eugene didn't even attempt to hide his disdain, his motivations nor his disbelief that Vincent could ever fit into Jerome's skin, his genetic expectations, successfully. 

Vincent's eyes had hardened then, daring to prove Eugene wrong as he allowed his legs to be lengthened and his eyes to be corrected. 

Eugene hasn't referred to himself as Jerome since then. He knows that he never will again. 

It was almost like taking a breath of fresh air.  
 

* * *

  


Despite his best efforts to act cool and detached, drunken and bitter (all of which he was) Eugene couldn't help but admire Jerome's success. And with admiration came respect, and perhaps even like. 

When Jerome was chosen for the flight, they celebrated with champagne and the finest food at the best restaurant that Morrow money could buy. It was at the apartment, when they were both drunk with food and drink, when Jerome leaned forward and kissed him. Eugene could have protested, proven in lengthy print-outs that Jerome Morrow was not genetically predisposed to such things, and any number of arguments that could have stopped everything had he not leaned into the kiss, moving his arm to wrap around Jerome's shoulder. 

The next morning, Jerome joked about samples and skin cell transfer as he stood naked and examined a bite to his collarbone. The resulting bruise would be the only evidence that remained when Jerome shut the incinerator door, the flames inside devouring the sloughed off cells.  
 

* * *

  


Eugene's thought of saying the words any number of times, but pride, fear and futility have always kept them tamped down in his gut as immobile as his legs. Tonight the words would serve as a sword, slicing through Jerome and tearing at his flawed heart. Until last night, there had only been the two of them - Irene had been Aphrodite on a pedestal, untouchable and ideal. Thanks to Jerome Eugene Morrow's DNA and the passion Vincent Freeman had been born with, she was now corporeal. Attainable. And now Jerome has touched her, made love to her, and Eugene can smell the ship's fuel beginning to burn, preparing to take Jerome into the sky. 

So Eugene keeps the words inside as Jerome pulls the sheets back on the bed - he's showered, scrubbing away any traces of the night before and Eugene chooses to believe it was done for him. They don't speak - there's nothing left to say. Jerome's hands reach out to touch familiar places, knowing where to caress and where to scrape his nails. Jerome can reduce him to incoherent thought, which is what he does. 

Even in borrowed skin, Jerome knows how to succeed, how to follow his dream. Which is why Eugene feigns sleep, feeling Jerome press a kiss to his shoulder before leaving the bed. 

Eugene won't admit those are tears that burn his eyes, he blinks hard and waits, closing his eyes and imagining hard pavement beneath feet that still work. 

He chokes on stale air.  
 

* * *

  


Closing the apartment takes remarkably less time than Eugene expected and he has extra time to collect some extra samples for storage. There are rows of blood, urine, hair and skin ready in the deep freeze, and even a few other assorted bodily fluids, if Jerome were so compelled. Which he tells him, once Jerome arrives home, clothes askew and a triumphant look in his eye that reminds Eugene of Vincent. 

He tells Jerome he'll be traveling as well, exact specifications aren't divulged, and Eugene knows Jerome hasn't fit the last piece of the puzzle in yet. He also knows it's an unfair choice, but he knows he's failed so many times over and with Jerome gone, perhaps Eugene can finally find success in this. 

There's a kiss goodbye, although only one of them knows how complete the farewell is, and for that reason, as a means of explanation and apology, Eugene hands the envelope to Jerome. 

In the empty apartment, the air tastes of finality.  
 

* * *

  


Eugene imagines he can hear the rumble of the rockets as he lifts himself into the metal room. He pictures the envelope he had given Jerome held safe in Jerome's pocket, waiting to say what he could not. As the flames ignite, he feels his legs come alive in phantom pain and he can taste the memory of the cold air on his tongue. 

Eugene closes his eyes and he's running. 

 


End file.
